Marking the Soul
by celinenaville
Summary: After Sam leaves for Stanford, John Winchester and Dean travel to New England where John enlists the help of a psychic friend to help him get a lead on a coven of witches. The psychic ends up with more than she bargained for when she gets a glimpse of Dean Winchester's disturbing future. Thoughts of Sam haunt their every step. *COMPLETED.*
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so this follows after Locking Horns. Now that I've finished that piece, I want to write some more with John and Dean. Thanks to Alex Hamato who spent hours correcting my draft. And WastedJamie, my fellow John Winchester sympathizer, this one is for you. :)**

"Now why are we working with a witch again?" Dean looked at his Dad from the passenger side of the truck.

John shook his head. "She's not a witch, Dean. She's a psychic. I've worked with her on a lot of cases. She knows her stuff. She isn't a charlatan."

"Didn't you say she comes from a long line of occultists?"

John raised a dark eyebrow. "Yes."

"That's like code for _witches_."

John snorted. "Well, we need her."

Dean leaned against the passenger window, jiggling his leg. He'd been antsy and on edge ever since Sam had left for Stanford. Things had settled into an uneasy rhythm between the two of them, but Sam's absence lingered over them like the faint smell of sulfur in a closed room. They had hardly spoken of Sam since the night of his departure, as if not giving voice to his absence would make it more bearable. John could tell from Dean's behavior that his brother was never far from his mind. Truth be told, he wasn't far from John Winchester's thoughts either.

* * *

"John." Ellis opened the door to see all six-foot-two of John Winchester on her doorstep. He swept her up into a quick embrace, pulling her on her toes.

"Ellie." He smiled, his dimples showing through the salt-and-pepper of his stubble. As as they parted, some of her blonde hair clung to his beard and he turned his head to pull it away.

"How have you been?" she asked, one hand still on his wrist. The canvas of his light brown jacket was rough under her fingers. Rough like all the other facets of John.

His jaw tightened. "Good... I've been good," he replied in his gruff voice.

She watched the set of his shoulders change a bit.

"Oh come on, you know better than to lie to a psychic. What's wrong?"

John glanced over his shoulder back at the truck and looked back at her with a weary expression. "Just some trouble with my youngest."

"Sam?" Ellis asked. "I thought he was your good boy?"

"He's my pain in the ass boy," he responded, looking back again. "I brought my other boy with me. Hope you don't mind if we both stay."

She saw the truck door open and close and a figure emerged carrying some duffel bags and gear. Ellis look back at John. "Course not."

John Winchester's eldest mounted the steps, partly buried under the duffel on his shoulder.

John clapped him on the back, his fingers digging into the leather jacket with a fierce affection. "Ellie, this is my boy Dean," he said proudly. "Dean, this is Ellis."

"Hi," Dean Winchester ducked his head and smiled and Ellis felt her stomach drop. John's boy was the stuff of myth. Deceptively innocent, boyish features... wide green eyes with dark lashes that would have given any woman in a L'Oreal commercial a run for her money. Perfect white teeth he'd obviously inherited from his father.

She had to collect herself. "Dean, hi. Your dad's told me so much about you."

Dean winked as he shouldered past her and stepped inside. "Don't believe any of it," he quipped. "He's just a jealous old man."

* * *

Dean gathered up his cards and shuffled them. He locked eyes with Ellis as he folded them expertly together with a loud thwip of cardstock moving through the air and tapped it on the table. "Wanna play another hand?"

She was into him. He could feel it. The way her eyes lingered on his before she dropped them with a blush. The way she leaned into the table to listen to his words. He knew how to read the signs... was an expert at it, actually. She was unconsciously giving him all of them.

She was older. Still attractive despite the lines starting to gather around her eyes. Thin, very petite. He wondered if his father had ever tapped that. John and she had a definite familiarity. Almost a tenderness. But that seemed to be her nature. She was familiar with him right off the bat as well.

At first he'd been pissed at his father for dragging him along. And then for ditching him with Ellis while he did God knows what on a hunt for the weekend, sidelining him like he hadn't fucking earned the right to come along.

But Ellis was good company. She wasn't anything like the normal women he encountered. She didn't carry herself prickly and closed off like a hunter, nor was she anything like the usual college girls he picked up at bars.

"So," he said leaning back against the chair. "Wanna start another game? You think my dad will come back soon?"

She nodded. "He'll come limping in here sooner or later. Always does."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah, he's showed up busted up on my doorstep at least half a dozen times. I'm a good nurse." She gathered the cards up. "He's a terrible patient."

"Oh, I know _that!"_ His answer was emphatic.

Her smile made her seem girlish. "You as stubborn as him?"

Dean snorted. "No one is as stubborn as him. Except maybe Sam." He felt a stab of pain go through him at the name. Pushed it under. "So you and my Dad... you two..." He looked up and left the rest unspoken.

"What?" She paused until she finally followed his train of thought. "No! _Dean!_ " She flushed.

He liked making her flustered. He leaned over the table. "Can't blame me for askin'. I mean, if I had you playing nurse with me..." He raised his eyebrows.

Ellis swatted his arm.

Oh, she was _definitely_ into him.

* * *

Dean drew himself closer to her on the couch. Ellis pushed at him playfully. He resisted and moved in a bit more. His eyes flicked up and down her face. She could smell his breath, notes of whiskey and warmth.

" Dean..."

"Yeah," he said. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"What are you..." he cut off her question by moving in and pressing his lips to hers. It was gentle, slow. She closed her eyes, momentarily pulled under his spell and then opened them again and drew away, her head pressed against the back of the cushions.

"Dean..." and suddenly his mouth was on the juncture of her neck and shoulder. And that's how she ended up entangled with John Winchester's eldest son on the couch like a horny teenager.

She tilted her head back to give him access and felt her body arch against his as he drew himself on top of her. His hand slipped under the hem of her shirt and moved up her ribs.

She gasped and he hummed into her neck. "I love that sound." His voice was husky.

What the hell was she doing? This was her friend's son. His son _15 years her Junior._ But _oh God_ , his mouth felt so good on her. _He_ felt so good against her.

"Dean, we shouldn't," she managed. Her protest sounded small and pathetic to her own ears.

He moved his mouth down to her sternum. She felt the tickle of his closely cropped hair on her neck as he turned his head.

"Dean." Her hands moved to his shoulders and pressed down, trying to contain his movement for a moment.

If she could just THINK.

He slowed at her touch, lips still pressed against her decolletage. He looked up at her from where he was and oh my god if that wasn't the sexiest thing she'd ever seen in her life, she didn't know what was. His eyes were questioning, silently asking for permission.

 _Get your shit together Ellis, tell him no._

Still looking up at her through his dark lashes, he pressed another soft kiss to the part of her breast exposed beneath the v neck tshirt she wore. He moved his hand reverently up her side and adjusted his weight. The shift of his body against hers shut her brain off momentarily.

He turned his head sideways and rested his cheek against her breast. She could feel the exhale of his warm breath across her skin. He was waiting for a signal.

Permission or denial. She gave him neither and after a moment, Dean took that as permission to continue.

He moved back up to her lips and kissed her in earnest, parting her mouth slowly with his tongue, deepening the kiss, groaning into her mouth.

 _Oh God, that sound._

Ellis recovered herself again and pushed him back once more, "Dean..."

This time he ignored her, and he was everywhere, his hands, his mouth.

He had her pressed up against the arm of the couch, writhing under his ministrations.

She grabbed his shirt and slid her hands under it, felt the flatness of his stomach. His breath quickened.

 _Fuck it._ If she was going to be a fucking slut, she may as well do it _right._

She wedged her knee between Dean's thighs and forced them apart. She saw the surprise in his green eyes and then the smile on his lips. He seemed more than happy to let her take the reins. And she did turning them so that they were side by side on the couch, him wedged between the back of the couch and her body, her so that she was perilously close to the edge. She traced his back, his chest, his ass through the denim. Dean was breathing heavily, almost panting as she kissed his neck.

She dipped her hand teasingly below his belt and he gasped and tensed against her. She kept her hand in his waist band for a moment and then moved it back up and pulled his t-shirt off over his head.

Dean rolled on top of her and she twined her hands around his neck and slowly traced one down his shoulder until her palm was gripping his bicep. The world abruptly broke away. Images flashed through her mind in quick rapid succession.

 _Dean hugging a broken body of a young man. His cries lost on the wind._

 _Dean smashing the body of a black classic car with a tire iron. The anger and rage and pain emanating off of him in waves._

 _Dean being torn apart by some invisible force dragging him down as he cried and fought desperately to get away. Crawling his way across the floor, a spurt of blood flying from his shoulder, terrified desperate._

 _And then in a quick succession of flashes, horrible distorted faces, blood, cries, torture, Dean bound to a table- hooks and flails and sharp objects and hanging suspended from chains, the world hot and surreal...and then a flash of light, blinding in the darkness... absolutely blinding, the dark shadow of wings looming against the wall and then away from that horror._

 _And after... Dean aged and weary. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, his jaw tight buried in a world of pain and whiskey. Lost and tired and utterly empty._

Ellis broke the connection and a scream tore from her throat. Dean leapt back so quickly he almost toppled off of the couch. He grabbed the back of it to steady himself.

His eyes were horrified, shocked, concerned. "I'm sorry! I'm _so_ sorry!" He held his hands up in surrender. "Did I hurt you?" He moved closer, his hands hovering above her, wanting to help but afraid to touch. His fly was open, they must have gotten a little farther than she realized while she was under the vision. His expression was nakedly distressed.

Ellis pushed away, untangling their legs and toppling off of the couch and onto the floor. Dean tried to catch her and missed. She stayed on her hands and knees a moment, eyes closed against the wave of pain that swept through her consciousness.

"Ellis! What happened? Are you okay?" Dean was on his hands and knees beside her, head turned trying to get a look at her expression.

She fought a wave of nausea and nodded, swallowing hard. _Get it together. Poor guy has no clue what's going on_.

He touched her back tentatively. "Ellie?"

She nodded, unable to speak. Patted blindly at his arm in reassurance.

He sat back on his haunches and tried to help her up. He had no problem hauling her into a sitting position against the couch. He settled next to her, his arm around the back of her head.

She blinked and looked at him. His expression was one of endless concern, a bit of anxiety, probably still afraid he'd hurt her or done something wrong. He smiled hesitantly.

"You know, usually when I rock a woman's world it doesn't involve throwing up," he quipped.

Ellis meant to laugh but she looked at his sweet and concerned face and it came out as a sob.

Dean looked miserable.

Ellis collected herself. "Dean, it's not you. It's not..." She took his hand and twined her fingers in his. He turned to face her. "I had a vision while we were making out."

"Wow." He looked infinitely relieved. "That must have been one fucked up vision." He turned to face her. "That happen a lot?" He brushed a lock of hair out of her face.

"Well, that's a first as to what I was doing when I had the vision."

"What was it?"

She paused. Her eyes filled with tears. How could she even begin to tell him? If a glimpse of the future couldn't be altered or helped or changed, it was best not to tell them. An image of Dean with the closed, guarded expression and the 1,000 yard stare snuck into her head. It was such a stark contrast to the playful young man with her, it made her breath hitch.

Dean paused, a realization dawning. "Ellis... was it a vision with _ME?_ " His eyes held a note of fear.

She didn't answer.

"W...what happens to me?" He drew back slightly, his jaw trembling with repressed emotion.

The door swung open and John Winchester entered. He paused, taking in the scene before him.

Dean jumped away as if he'd been stung. "Fuck." He stood up, back turned to the door and frantically zipped his fly and rebuckled his belt. "Dad? Wasn't expecting you back. "

John Winchester raised a dark eye brow. "I can see that."

 **TBC...**


	2. Chapter 2

Whatever John was expecting to see when he returned, it sure wasn't Dean leaping away from Ellis and trying to put his jeans back together.

He set his stuff down, tired and none too pleased with either of them at the moment. He shrugged off his coat. "Ellie, when you get a chance, I need your help on this one."

"Sure." Ellis stood up, she looked ruffled, but not in the flustered shamed way he would have expected. John's eyes went to Dean. He didn't look right either. He furrowed his brow, turned to the kitchen. Put some water in the coffee maker.

Ellis sat at the table. "Make enough for me. "

John sat beside her, unsure whether or not to broach the subject. He decided on business, set down a hex bag he'd found.

She opened it and picked through the contents. He could see a fine tremble run through her hand.

"This is a bit weird. Like the combination of... ingredients." She brushed her hair back, distracted. "It's not Celtic. This is older..." She paused, taking a breath. "... more gypsy."

He raised an eyebrow. "Gypsy? Like caravan traveling gyspy?"

"Yes. More like Italy."

John leaned closer to her to peer at the various bones, stones, pieces of hair. The smell of Dean's aftershave tickled his nose. _Oh my god. Couldn't the kid keep it in his pants for two fucking minutes?_

He looked at Ellis, she had a far away stare even though she was looking at the hex bag.

John was very close to her, he turned his head to lock eyes with her. "You okay?"

She nodded, the lines around her mouth deepening. "Fine." She reached up and carded her fingers through the back of his hair fondly. "I'm fine."

She certainly didn't seem okay. This didn't fall under post coital bliss by any means.

"Okay." He left it.

If she didn't want to tell him what was wrong there was a reason. Ellie was very open with her feelings. She had a way of making John open up to her that pissed him off sometimes.

"Look, I found this in a child's room. I have got to move fast. Can you give me anything else so I can at least narrow down a suspect?"

She touched the silk bag and closed her eyes. John watched her jerk slightly. "You're looking for someone dark haired, olive skinned. Someone trusted by the family."

She opened them again. "Does that help? "

Pieces clicked into place. He'd met someone by that description just that morning. "The neighbor who used to watch the kids. She followed me over to the truck today to talk about the missing teen. So yeah. Yeah that does. "

"Good." Ellis nodded and looked like she was about to cry.

"Ellie?" John's eyebrows shot up. "What's wrong? "

"Nothing. I... " He gathered her in for a hug and she leaned against his denim shirt. "I've gotta go lay down. I don't think coffee is going to help this headache."

She moved away from him and went up stairs.

John stood up. Boy was he going to have a talk with his eldest.

* * *

Dean let out a startled cry as John grabbed his plaid collar and physically hauled him out of his seat on the couch.

"Get over here." John pushed him out onto the back porch. "We are having a talk. "

They were barely outside before he was in his son's face. Almost nose to nose, but Dean was the smaller man. He'd never have his Dad's bulk or height. "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing!" Dean tried to step back and averted his gaze. "Nothing."

John grabbed his son's chin in his hand and made him look at him. "Stop lying to me! I can _smell_ your aftershave on her, Dean. I saw you trying to get your belt back on..." He paused, almost afraid to vocalize his next thought. His voice was husky. "Did you hurt her? If you hurt a woman, god help me Dean, I will..." he left the threat unfinished.

Dean's green eyes widened in horror and affront as he registered what John was implying.

"No, Dad!" He broke away. "God," he ran a hand down his face, frowning, his nose wrinkled. _"No!_ " He rounded on his father, shoulders tight, fists clenched. "How could you even _think_ something like that of me?"

"I don't know _what_ to think. You're lying to me about being with her, I come in and you're trying to shove your manhood back into your pants, I can smell you on her and Ellie is acting like a trauma victim and won't tell me what's wrong. So you tell ME what conclusion I'm supposed to draw here?" He put his hands on his hips, widening his stance.

The vehement anger went out of Dean and he shrank a little, turning his head and body sideways, offering his dad his shoulder  
"We were making out."

His dad raised an eyebrow that said: _more than making out._

"Okay, it was kinda getting hot and heavy. It was _consensual_ , I swear! And I dunno, she like flipped out all of the sudden. Told me it was a vision."

John kept his gaze level.

"I didn't do anything wrong, Dad!"

God his son's libido was going to land him in deep shit someday. "You didn't do anything wrong?" John asked. "You mean besides seduce my colleague while we're under the hospitality of her roof and risk my business relationship with her because I can't trust you to keep it in your pants for two fucking days?"

At least Dean had enough shame to look abashed, which he usually didn't. "Sorry, sir. I didn't think of it that way."

"That's the thing, Dean, you never think. You never bother to ponder what repercussions your actions will have. Well every choice you make has repercussions, whether it's driving too fast, going into a hunt unprepared or fucking your colleague, who by the way is almost old enough to be your mother."

Dean grew smaller under his father's disapproval. He tried for humorous bluster. "I was having a Mrs. Robinson moment."

John wasn't having any of it. Dean needed to understand this. He needed to get that he didn't live inside a vacuum and his reckless behavior had consequences. It had been on the rise since Sam had left from Stanford. This only punctuated the point. " _She_ seduced _you?_ "

"Not exactly."

"Yeah, didn't think so, so quit pretending this is _The Graduate._ "

"Yes, sir."

"You don't think I don't find Ellie attractive? I do. You know why I haven't slept with her?"

"No, sir."

"Because you don't crap where you eat. She helps me save lives and I'm not going to muddy the waters with her... But I guess I have my son to do that."

Dean bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Dad."

He looked so young. Was he himself ever that fucking young? He guessed so. Hard to believe at this point.

"I'm really disappointed in you. "

Dean said nothing but looked like he wanted to shrink through the floor boards. His cheeks were flushed.

"Now you want to tell me what vision threw her off so bad she's still shaking?"

"I don't know, she didn't tell me."

"Was it about you?" John looked at him with a measuring gaze.

Dean shrugged.

Deep inside John knew it had to be. Ellie's senses worked through touch. What the hell was so horrible in Dean's future that it threw her off so badly? John sighed. "Okay, Dean. I'm through talking to you here. I expect better from you in the future." He paused. "So do better."

"Yes, sir," Dean answered like his good little soldier.

 **Thanks for reading. Please drop me a review. They are like mini power-ups for writers! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

Ellis could hear the voices of the Winchester men on the porch. John's deep and gruff, Dean's lighter and apologetic. She felt terrible. She couldn't hear the details but from the tone of it, Dean was getting his ass chewed out by his father.

It was just as much her fault as his. More so actually. She was older than him by far. She should have the experience and control to put on the brakes. But she didn't. She was completely taking advantage of his youth and eagerness. And now... _God_... now she _knew_ things she shouldn't. Things she'd be haunted by for a long time to come. And what could she _do_ about it? She certainly couldn't TELL him. Couldn't lay that on him. She didn't know how to stop any of it. Alter any of it. Didn't even know what _it_ was...just a jumbled tapestry of pain and blood.

Ellis felt anxiety knot her stomach and her heart beat triple time in her chest. She started to cry. Curled in on herself on her soft mattress and cried. Cried for the young man she'd held in her arms. For all the pain and emotion she felt in his older self. It took her quite a while to bring herself back to center and foray back downstairs.

Dean was looking small and ashamed at the kitchen table, sitting with a bottle of beer. He looked up at her and she smiled.

 _Look at that soul-all young and shining and selfless._ Clouded a little by something. She hesitated at his shoulder and put a hand under his jaw, tilted his head up to look at her. "Hi, sweetheart."

"Hi," he said back, uncertainly.

She sat down next to him.

"You feelin' better?" he asked.

 _No_ , she thought, but instead she nodded. "I'm sorry Dean, that had to be so terrible for you."

"Hey, I'm not the one cryin' and dry heaving so it's all okay."

"No, it's not." She tried to snare him with her eyes. Impress upon him that this wasn't his fault. "You're wonderful. You're so wonderful it was too hard to say no even though I should have. I took advantage of you."

"You took advantage of _me_?" Dean was incredulous. "Ellis, I was all over you."

"Yeah, but I should have known better. You're a young man, you don't have the experience I do."

He smirked. "I think I may have a lot more experience than you'd think."

She brushed a hand through his dark hair. "Be careful with that."

"With what?" He arched an eyebrow.

"With women. "

"I always use protection," he quipped. When he saw that the joke fell flat he pressed her further."This have anything to do with your vision?"

"No. It has to do with my heart."

"Well, I ain't gonna fall for a girl and have it break my heart," he said confidently.

"I believe you..." _Oh God, he was going to have so much heartbreak and so much loss; it still took her breath away._

"So," he took a swig of beer and set both arms on the table. "You gonna tell me what you saw?"

"No, I don't think I will. Some visions are best kept to themselves."

He looked are little frightened. "Am I gonna die? Dad? ... _Sammy?_ " He breathed the name with an almost reverence.

Sammy. A flash of the young man in Dean's arms. She knew who that was instinctively. She hoped her cultivated poker face kept that from showing. "Dean, I don't know. It was a jumble of images that made no sense. Sometimes I just see quick flashes of something. And I don't even know what they are."

"So it _was_ about me. I knew it." He stared into his beer.

"Keep control on that alcohol, okay?"

"Gonna end up like dear old Dad, huh?"

 _Worse_ , she thought. "Just keep an eye on it."

"Okay." His tone was non-committal.

"Be kind with yourself. You're doing the best you can... the absolute best at all times. You're a good man Dean."

He shied away from that. Visibly.

"You are. If you could see what a bright light you are."

He shrugged.

She laid her hand over the top of his closed fist on the table and opened herself up to whatever impressions wanted to come to her. "Sam will come back to you."

"Huh?" Dean lifted his head and stared at her. "We haven't even _talked_ in months. Why would he do that?"

"Shh. I'm not sure. But he'll be back. Your time with your brother isn't done. Do not fear that it is. You'll have a very long journey together." She moved her thumb across the back of Dean's hand. "You know," she said, "part of me is awfully sorry we didn't get the chance to go any farther."

He flushed, recovered himself. "You get get a vision of how awesome I am in bed?"

She let her eyes trace his body. "Oh several," she replied flirtatiously.

He gave her a genuine smile, the kind that lit their surroundings like like a slant of sunlight.

"Where's your father?"

"He went out."

"He did?"

"Yeah. He's mad at me. He does that."

She touched his arm through the plaid shirt he'd put on. "He's mad at himself... Dean, why don't you call your brother?" She could sense Sam's absence like wound inside of him. She wondered if he even knew it was there.

"He disconnected his cell."

"Oh come on, hunter like you can't track him down?"

She felt his defenses rise.

"Look if he wanted to talk he'd have found a way to call me." He moved his arm away from her touch. "He wants a normal life and I can't be a part of that because I'm not normal."

"Love will find a way. It always does."

He rolled his eyes at the platitude and she saw just a trace of the broken man in her vision lingering there.

"You're mad at him right now but you miss Sam. I can feel it off you."

Dean shrugged. He seemed seemed a bit sad. She watched him toy with the ring he wore on his right hand. "Don't think he misses me that much."

"How can you say that?"

"Don't see him exactly seeking me out."

Dean parted his lips around the neck of the bottle and she wished they were on her skin instead. She pushed the thought aside. "That goes both ways maybe he won't call you because he thinks you don't care about him either."

"He's the one who left me and Dad to twist, Ellis. That's on him."

She reached up to brush the back of her hand across his temple. Dean jerked away, surprised at the tenderness of the gesture and perhaps a bit defensive as well. "Something happens to Sam, doesn't it?" He pried. "Somethin' bad?"

"Something bad happens to everyone eventually."

"Ellis, you're killing me here. What did you see?"

"Please. I told you, Dean. Disjointed images." She watched a hint of anxiety suffuse his features. She was going to have to give him something to calm him down. "I saw you smashing a classic black car with a tire iron."

"What? My Baby?" he asked incredulously. "That'll never happen."

"I told you not everything comes to pass."

"That's not why you yelled. The destruction of classic cars doesn't horrify you. Me, on the other hand... "He grinned. "Come on, sweetheart. I'm not dumb."

"I saw jumbled flashes of monsters you fight. I'm not a hunter. That is frightening to me." The lie felt right to tell him. He looked appeased.

"They scare me sometimes," he said honestly. "I've been seeing this stuff since I was a kid and every now and then one _still_ spooks me. Just a little," he added in an attempt to keep his machismo. "You know, I thought maybe things would smooth out after Sam left. Because Dad and Sam...they were just no good together." She could read the stress in his posture as he peeled absently at the label on the beer bottle with his thumb. "That was just a wreck waiting to happen."

"Hard to be the buffer, huh?"

Dean snorted. "Hard doesn't quite describe it. Sometimes it felt like my job was to keep them from killing each other."

"You two still fighting now that he's gone?"

Dean shrugged, contemplating his beer. "Not so much. I know when to shut up. Sam would just fucking push and push. I'd be 'drop it, Sam' and he couldn't... he just could never let anything go." Dean's hand was trembling. He put it in his lap and acted like nothing was wrong. "I'm not sure why I'm dumping all this on you," he said apologetically.

"I don't mind one bit. Your father's always used me as a sounding board too. I must have a way about me."

He looked shocked. "Dad? I didn't think Dad told anyone anything."

"You get him relaxed with enough alcohol in him and he'll let me in just a little. He worries about you boys a lot."

"Yeah well, he worries me too."

"Dean," she put her arm around his broad shoulders and leaned her head against his. He startled a moment, then angled his head into her and melted into it. "It will be okay."

He closed his eyes. She saw his jaw twitch. He turned his head and locked gazes with her. She watched his eyes dilate and all that vulnerability turn to lust. "Wanna finish what we started?" he asked playfully.

 _God yes,_ she thought. "No. John's mad enough at me."

"I think he thinks we got all the way. Might as well make that assumption true. I mean that's where it was headed right?" His forehead was against hers. He put an arm around her and drew her body closer.

"Dean," her hands were on his shoulders, pushing him away. "No."

"I'm real good value for your money, I promise," he said, the playfulness still there.

"Oh God, I'm sure you are."

"So come on." A smile played across his lips. He dropped his gaze shyly and raised it again, all green eyes and long dark lashes.

Her hand moved to his face and she suddenly understood something about John's eldest. He didn't know how to have physical touch or intimacy without sex. He craved them both and probably didn't know it. She wasn't going to be able to be the one to teach him that either. That would fall upon the shoulders of whatever girl was _unlucky_ enough to be swept into that package of sexuality and emotional wreckage. That poor soul would have her work cut out for her.

"I can't. I want to," she said, "but I can't." She saw a disappointed light of rejection his eyes.

"Are you friend-zoning me?" he joked.

Something told Ellis that Dean had never ended up in the friend-zone before. "Let's just keep this platonic."

"Maybe Plato slept with his friends," he rejoined.

Ellis burst into laughter.

 **Next Chapter up soon. The action picks up from here, I promise! Drop me a review! I love you guys!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys, as promised, the shit shall hit the fan. Thanks to all of you who reviewed and especially everyone who followed me over from Locking Horns. Let me know what you think.**

"So Ellie, would you like to tell me what's going on between you and my son?" John asked, an edge of accusation in his voice.

Her hands stilled on the tea kettle for a moment before she rejoined pouring. She said nothing.

"You owe me that much."

She could feel him approach behind her... could smell his cologne and a tang of gunpowder.

"I'm sorry, John," she said without turning. "I knew better. Dean pushed and I got carried away. He's young but I know better." The excuse sounded lame to her own ears. What was she supposed to _tell_ him? That His son was Sexual Napalm?

"I lit into him pretty hard earlier. I thought he hurt you."

She turned, worried. " _What?_ No! Not at all."

John raised an eyebrow. "You want to tell me what you saw?"

Ellis had to tilt her head up to meet his gaze. He was so much taller that he had an entire foot over her stature. "No. No I'd rather not."

He looked mildly taken aback. "I'm his father. You don't think I have the right to know what's going to happen to my son?"

"John, I don't know what it meant. They were tangled images that make no sense. Not everything I see comes to pass."

"Enough do for me to be worried, Ellis."

She shook her head. "I can't."

His expression grew darker. "Can't or won't?"

"Can't."

"You remind me of my son," he said under his breath.

"Dean?"

"No. Sam." She could tell the statement was not meant to be a compliment.

John turned away from her and leaned his hands against the counter. The broad shoulders were stiff and tight as he bowed his head.

Her impression of John Winchester had always been that of a man who carried _so_ much weight. So much that it dimmed the light inside him. There was light there. She knew it. She felt it when he gave her one of his sad smiles. It was there, layered just under the whiskey and regret.

"John," she laid her hand between his shoulder blades. Ellis had always been tactile. It was how she gathered her impressions of the world. He accepted her touch and she moved her thumb along the line of his muscles, stiff and rigid under the fabric of his shirt. "I'm sorry I took advantage of your son."

"Ellie, I don't care about that. Dean is an adult. Where he puts his dick is none of my business."

That hurt a little. She kept the contact regardless. She deserved the callous remark.

"I don't know how to protect them," he continued. The flash of annoyance gone as soon as it had come. "Sam's out of my reach now entirely. Alone out there. And Dean... Dean is _sideways_ without the little shit around."

"You've taught them to take care of themselves. They have the tools. They know how," she soothed, her hand still resting lightly against his spine.

"They don't have the experience."

"They'll gain it."

John turned to face her. "At what cost?" He rubbed a hand across the stubble.

 _Too high a cost,_ she thought. "John, you're tired."

"Damn right I am." He poured some tea into one of her chipped mugs. Faded kittens chased around the rim. He took a sip.

When he looked at her she could see a ceiling on fire reflected in his eyes. How this man could take so many hits in his life and yet that was the one that he'd never recover from.

Dean walked in with his cheerful smile and faltered. He looked at them both. "Am I interrupting somethin'?" he asked softly.

Neither answered and his look grew a little darker. "Let me grab something to drink and I'll leave so you can continue talking about me behind my back."

John rolled his eyes. "Dean, do not act like your brother."

Dean's jaw tightened and she saw several thoughts he didn't dare vocalize telegraph across its features. So much he didn't dare say that his father. _Dean_ , she thought. _Don't push it._ She could sense John's frustrations were looking for a way to vent.

Dean popped the top on the beer with his ring and took a drink, looking at both of them.

John sipped his tea and met his son's gaze unapologetically. How he managed to look intimidating holding a kitten mug, Ellis would never know. She watched a silent exchange pass between them.

"Dean, I need to strike while the iron is hot here. Ellie gave me a lead earlier, so I'm going back in."

"You gonna take me with you this time?"

"I don't think I will."

Dean looked annoyed. "You know, why did you drag me out here then? I haven't done anything but sit on my ass all weekend."

John looked to Ellis. "Funny, looked like you were doing more than that while I was away."

Dean shot his father a glare and Ellis felt her own ire rise. _"Excuse me,_ John Winchester, I'm right fucking here, you know."

"So... Dean doesn't want me to talk _behind_ his back and you want the opposite?" He asked in his baritone, observing her reaction.

 _Fuck him._ He could intimidate his son; John didn't frighten her one bit. "Instead of snark, why don't you be a man and tell me what your problem is?"

John set his mug down. "Not sure you want to hear it."

She put her hands on her hips.

He shook his head. "Now you look like Mary when she was spoiling for a fight."

"Maybe you have that effect on women."

John shrugged it off.

 _Dammit._ He wasn't bothered, but he had her pissed off. Ellis knew how that went. Whoever cared less wins. She tried to think of a barb that would get a rise out of him. "You jealous of your son for having the balls to make the move you haven't for the last year?"

Dean's eyebrows raised and he looked to his Dad with a bit of anxiety.

She'd hit her mark. She saw John's eyes flash and his jaw tighten. "Excuse me for being professional, Ellis."

"You a professional? I-"

" _Stop!_ Both of you!" Dean looked disproportionately stressed. "I thought I'd escaped this shit when Sam left, but here it is again!"

Ellis softened upon hearing the desperation in his tone. "I'm sorry, Dean."

John whirled on him. "Where are you getting the nerve to speak to me with that tone of voice?"

Dean's breathing hitched a little. He remained silent, suddenly small in the wake of his father's anger.

John looked back to Ellis. She met his glare with her own. "You can treat your son like shit, but don't you _dare_ treat me that way."

John pushed past Dean, and stormed out of the room. They heard his displeasure telegraphed by the slamming of the front door and his truck starting up.

Dean slammed his hand on the counter. "Sonofabitch! He's left me here again!"

* * *

The next few hours between them were tense. Dean tried calling his Dad's cell and received no answer. He was starting to fret despite himself. His father would run off for days when provoked, but something just wasn't sitting right in his gut. He paced the room a few times, all nervous energy.

Ellis didn't seem terribly comfortable either. She fixed them both something to eat. Dean picked at the sandwich, jiggling his leg as his emotions searched for a physical outlet. He was pissed at his Dad. Pissed at Ellis. Pissed at fucking Sam for leaving him to deal with this shit alone. Pissed at Bobby Singer for drawing the line and making it so that Dean no longer felt comfortable calling him to talk. He dropped the sandwich on the plate and rested his head in his hands. "Ellis," he said finally. "I don't like this."

Her blue eyes locked on his, her mouth taut, making her look a little severe and older than she actually was.

"Oh God, please don't tell me _you_ have a bad feeling."

* * *

Whatever John Winchester had been expecting when he broke into the babysitter's house next door to the Campman's, it wasn't the weird smell that greeted him. Sweet and gross, like rotted raspberries and decayed flesh. He slid to the floor through the window he'd jimmied open, drawing his .45 pistol with the Ivory grip. _What the fuck was the smell?_ The house was dim in the twilight hour.

He scanned the room quickly and moved to the next. Once the downstairs was clear, he made his way up the steps of the little cape cod. The smell of sweet carrion was stronger up there. He rounded the corner to the bed room and saw it. On the dirty linen of the bed was a corpse, tied and half rotted. Probably the missing teen. A scurry of bugs ran for cover as he flicked on his flashlight. John glanced at his feet and realized that he was stepping on a few of them with his heel. He backed away in disgust and shook a bug off his boot.

Making a hasty retreat, he stepped sideways, his arm up to cover his nose, breathing through his mouth. As soon as he hit the hallway, his vision spun. He grabbed onto the banister unable to breathe, his flashlight clattering over the bars of the railing and plunging to the room below. Pain shook him and he buckled further. Some part of his mind registered that he'd walked into a trap. The witch knew he would end up there and had planted a hex bag somewhere nearby, activated when he walked into its proximity. He realized that he should have brought Dean.

John fell over, clutching his chest, the pistol forgotten on the rug. His body arched off the ground and he cried out.

It took a monumental effort but John rolled himself over onto his stomach and tried to crawl along the rug, one arm held tight against his aching chest and the other blindly searching for a bag anywhere nearby. This was bad. A bug crawled over his hand.

 **TBC...**


	5. Chapter 5

Dean crouched underneath the old porch, Ellis pressed behind him. He could hear her breathing loudly in the darkness. He shushed her. She had her eyes squeezed shut in a grimace, trying to repress her fear. Dean was worried that her inexperience would be a liability.

He felt something crawl across his hand and hissed, flinging the spider into the darkness.

They'd heard a car pull up as they'd been peeking in through the window and Dean shoved Ellis under the front porch, and crawled in behind her. Which is where they found themselves crouched now, peering through the lattice work, while the dark-haired woman from Ellis' vision climbed the steps above their heads. The tread of her high heeled boots clacked against the boards. She unlocked the door and walked in, the door clicking loudly as she shut it.

They both finally breathed. "Dad's gotta be in there. This is the house you saw, right?" Dean looked at her for confirmation.

She nodded. "And that was definitely his truck about a block over."

* * *

John _heard_ her coming up the stairs before he saw her. He tried to clamber to his feet, using the railing for support as she rounded the corner. He barely had himself vertical as her dark head and almond eyes came into view. She smiled predatorily, brown eyes taking him in. She would have been attractive if she weren't a hellspawn.

"John Winchester. I see you figured me out. You're smarter than I gave you credit for."

John swayed on his feet, his breath ragged in his own ears. "I hear that a lot. Guess people underestimate mechanics."

A lance of pain went through his insides and he hunched into himself for a minute, unable to draw a breath. His mouth parting in a silent cry.

She stepped toward him. "It's rude to break into people's houses, you know."

John regained himself, more or less back upright, though the banister was still taking the brunt of his weight. He glanced around surreptitiously. She saw the gaze and smiled. "Hoping I somehow left the hex bag in plain sight? Good luck finding it before your massive coranary and internal bleeding gets the best of you..."

As she said it, a cascade of blood dripped out of John's nose and he let out a choking gag.

"John, you're going to ruin my carpet."

He spit red. "Bedroom already looks ruined. I'm continuing the theme."

She stepped forward and John was so doubled over he almost had to look up at her.

This was it. She was going to kill him. The hex had him weak enough that she could take him. Or coolly watch him bleed out, but his money was on her wanting the satisfaction of hearing his bones snap under her fingers.

He waited until she took another step and then launched himself at her. He closed the couple of feet between them in a haphazard tackle-using his size to try and bring her down.

It almost worked, but somehow she was able to hold his weight momentarily before she pushed him with some sort of supernatural strength and sent him crashing into the drywall hard enough to dent it. John whimpered and went down on his hands and knees, sputtering through his blood. His chest ached liked an elephant was sitting on it.

She approached and kicked him solidly in the abdomen. John felt the air go out of him in a _woof_ and he collapsed onto his stomach. He reached out his hand, trying to connect with the pistol just out of his grasp.

"You think I'm going to let you get to that, honey?"

She kicked him again, viciously in the side. He thought maybe he felt a rib snap. The third time she drew back her foot, he let her connect and then grabbed her ankle with all the strength he had left, clutching it to his chest and didn't let go. She lost her balance and fell onto her ass on the rug with him.

"John," she panted. "I'm impressed." She kicked him in the face with her free foot.

"Do that again," he rasped. "I'll grab that leg too. Might break it for good measure."

"No, I don't think you will." She made a gesture with her hand and John felt something in his insides twist. The pain was so intense that he yelled on a broken sob.

* * *

Dean and Ellis both heard the low cry from their spot where they stood, trying to jimmy the front lock. Dean felt himself go frantic. " _Dad! Dad!_ " He cried, throwing himself at the door, once, twice, three times. It wasn't going to give.

He grabbed a potted plant and threw it through the window on the porch. Pieces shattered loudly, flying inward in a gleaming spray of glass. He was fairly certain the entire neighborhood had to have heard the commotion. Good, let them call the cops. The more the merrier.

Dean was climbing up and inside the window before Ellis had a chance to process what was going on.

Running on pure adrenaline and instinct, Dean was up the stairs three at a time and was on the woman standing over his incapacitated father before she knew what hit her. His weight threw them both into the wall, and as she turned to try and fight him, all teeth and nails and red fury, their tangle almost sent them crashing over the railing.

She bit his arm and he yelled, but kept a firm hold until she kicked backwards with her pointed-heeled boot and caught him in the kneecap. Dean swore and buckled.

She turned to face him, incredulous. "John's son? The junkyard dog has a pup? Who knew?" She smiled, the shapely curve of her mouth more prominent under the rosy lipstick. "Good to know though."

Why his dad hadn't wanted him along registered suddenly. John didn't want the coven to know that Dean existed. He was protecting him.

John tried to drag himself on his belly, hands searching for his pistol. He almost had the Ivory inlaid grip in his hands, when it went skittering out of his grasp and over the balcony.

"Ah ah, I said no, John."

Bitch had to have telekinetic powers. She just had to because that seemed to be the Winchester luck.

Dean took advantage of the distraction and seized the opportunity to tackle her and as he grabbed her, she whirled her powers on him and tossed him into the drywall... _through_ the dry wall into the adjoining bathroom.

She lifted him up with a gesture and pinned him up against the towel rack, sending guest linens scattering to the floor. John watched his son's eyes go wide and he was wondering if this was the first time Dean had been lifted like this by a witch. He started to change color, his skin going grey with the lack of oxygen. John tried to crawl to them but he couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

A shot rang out. It went ridiculously wide of its intended target, but the witch turned and dropped Dean into a heap on the tiled floor.

Ellis had John's pistol in her hand. She looked floored by the sound and the kick back.

John saw Dean spring for the witch in a split second, the knife in his boot drawn and ready for a kill.

 _"Dean, no!"_ John cried.

His son's reflexes had always been quick as cat's and before the warning was completed, Dean had already brought the knife blade across her throat with lethal efficiency.

An arterial spray painted the hallway and John. He closed his eyes as it hit him.

Dean kicked the body over the banister and it fell to the floor like a limp crash test dummy. Ellis cried out and shielded her eyes.

Dean was on his knees next to his father, trying to haul him up.

"Dad! Dad! What's wrong?"

John could hardly talk around the squeeze in his chest. He gripped Dean's collar. "Hex bag...you killed her, now we don't know where to find it!"

Dean's eyes widened. "Ellis!" He yelled. "There's a hex bag! We need to look for it." Dean started to pat his father down, searching his pockets.

Ellis stood staring at the body before her, trembling.

 _"Ellis!_ " Dean yelled. "Dad's gonna _die!_ Get it together!"

She snapped back to reality and darted up the stairs, searching the bathroom-hurling toiletries and towels.

Dean found nothing on his Dad and ran into the bedroom. The sight and smell of the decaying body stopped him cold. He'd only seen an odd handful of victim's corpses in his young life, and none in this much decay.

He put a hand over his mouth to stifle the gag reflex and tried to calm his heart. _Search._ He had to search for the hex bag. He didn't have time to be upset now, although he was fairly certain he was going to have nightmares for awhile.

Dean started searching drawers, tossing clothes to the floor. He dug through the closet at a frantic pace. He could hear his father's erratic, labored breathing from the other room and Ellis' quiet assurance of _"It's okay John, I'm here. Dean, hurry!"_

He lifted the mattress and yelled involuntarily as a horde of bugs ran for cover, but there it was tucked away, a hex bag. Black velvet on the outside, something horrible and nasty on the inside.

He grabbed it and fished for his lighter. "I found one!"

He jogged back into the hallway, lighting it as he went and letting it drop to the floor as the flames consumed it, turning the contents to ash. Funny how much of his life was spent doing just that. Reducing things to ash.

He looked to his father. The bag burnt but John didn't get up. He didn't break out from under the spell like a man coming up from the water for air. He didn't seem to be any better at all. Dean knelt down beside Ellis. "Dad?"

John was bleeding from his mouth in a steady stream. The carpet around him was painted red.

"Dad?" He took his father's face in his hands. "What's happening?" John's eyes had rolled up into the back of his head momentarily before he was able to pull focus on his son. He couldn't answer.

Ellis had her head turned and her attention settled on a small penciled mark on the wall near the floorboards. She crawled closer. "That's not the only bag, that's what. There's a sigil on the wall here that he tripped when he walked past it." She touched the mark with her hand and a flash of insight went through her.

She dove back to John, searching his coat pockets.

Dean's eyes were frantic. "I already looked there."

She pulled out John's truck keys. "It's not here, it's in the truck. She must've planted it when he was poking around asking questions."

Dean grabbed the keys. "I got it!"

"Look under the driver's seat," she yelled, wondering how fast Dean could run a block as he jumped down the steps, all adrenaline and action.

She turned her attention back. "John, baby, hang in here."

She rolled his body sideways so that he didn't choke on the blood pouring from his mouth and held his head. Bugs had started to crawl around them on the carpet. She gritted her teeth. "Oh God, John, this is gross. Your job is so gross."

He whimpered and her stomach twisted at the soft cry. It was a sound she couldn't have pictured ever coming from his mouth. "Okay, honey, okay." She tangled her hand in his dark hair. She could feel his essence ebbing, it was like watching a flame begin to gutter out. His eyes closed and he seemed to lose consciousness, suddenly limp and heavy in her arms. She set his head down.

"John!" Ellis checked for a pulse, pressing her fingers into his neck. "Oh god...oh god!"

And then suddenly, the bugs ran away from them like an invisible force had blown them back with a current of air, and John spasmed as he arched off the rug, his body taking a gasping, ragged breath.

Dean had found the hex bag.

* * *

 **Thank you for all the reviews! Especially from my regular crew. You guys are awesome. I appreciate the guest reviews too, even though I can't respond to them. Thank you.**


	6. Chapter 6

Dean struggling under his father's weight was the first thing John became aware of. He had one arm slung over his shoulders and they were heading either toward or away from the truck with drunkenly swaying steps. John couldn't tell which.

He buckled again and almost took his son down with him before Dean locked his knees and dragged him up with a groaning " _Come ON_ , Dad, you're going to make me slip a disc here."

They made another few steps before Dean halted their progress.

Poor Dean, always trying to carry him, always trying to shoulder the weight. Always trying to keep him from crumbling, ever since he was a little boy. "It's okay, Dad."

The thought disappeared in a fever type dream. And Ellie's hands were on him, peeling off his clothes, shushing his half-lucid questions. Her hands were gentle, comforting.

He could feel one brush through the dark hair on his chest, soothing him as she placed an ice pack against his neck and jaw and one against his bruised side. It hurt, but the pain was muted, almost distant.

Sam swam through his mind briefly. Miles away and unaware. Wondered if he'd even care.

He didn't know that Sam had a photograph of him and Mary propped on his bookshelf at school.

This experience proved John's initial assumption correct. This coven was a three man job.

Dean's voice was back. "You've lost a lot of blood, Dad."

He supposed he should be concerned, but he couldn't bring himself to have the energy to care.

* * *

Someone was touching his forehead. Hovering near him. John opened his eyes lazily, all dark lashes and and heavy lids. He had no clue how much he looked like his eldest in that moment.

Ellie pressed something against his lips and tried to coax it into his mouth. "John, take this under your tongue. I need to get a temperature."

He grumbled a protest and turned his head.

She followed his movement. "Stop being a baby. You've got a fever."

" 'llie..."

She pressed it to his lips again. "Just take it before I stick it up your ass."

 _She would too, the bitch._ He let her slide it under his tongue and lost consciousness.

* * *

"Hey Dad," Dean's tone was purposefully cheerful, his eyes studying John's own as he pulled focus on his son.

"There we go." Dean smiled, and the smile looked genuine. "That looks like you finally. Welcome back."

John groaned and sat up. "How long have I been out?" His voice sounded sandpaper rough.

"A couple days. Ellie's been playing nurse."

"That's a nice image."

"Yeah. You lucky sap. Too bad you've been out for 9/10ths of it, huh, old man?" Dean patted his Dad's leg teasingly.

"I can still kick your ass, kid." John croaked.

Dean chuckled, that mischievous light he had about him turned up to full power with relief that his Dad was back to himself.

John tried for mock sternness. "You think it's funny?"

"I think any physical threat you make at this point is funny, Dad."

John sat up against the carved wooden head board of Ellis' guest bed. The effort to do so seemed monumental. He breathed heavily for a moment with the expenditure. He fixed Dean with an appraising gaze, "You okay, son? You injured?"

"I'm fine," Dean replied. "My back's a little bruised from going through the wall... Ellis somehow hurt her shoulder from the kick back of the pistol." He smiled. "Think we need to teach her how to handle a firearm."

John allowed himself a smile in return. "Guess so, kid." He coughed and the movement sent a wave of pain through his ribs.

Dean's eyes softened with concern. "Still pretty sore, huh?"

"Just a little...just a little."

* * *

John sat heavily at the kitchen table with his kitten mug full of whatever-the-hell Ellis had prepared for him. Her an her herbal tea concoctions. He was used to them by now, didn't even ask what they were anymore.

Despite his assertions to the contrary, Dean seemed to be a little stiff himself, his usual easy stride a little guarded.

John broke the silence. "So I figured we'd leave in the morning. There's still a lot more to this coven."

Dean groaned. "Not that I ever cared for 'em before but I'm really gettin' tired of witches."

Ellis locked eyes with John from her spot across the table. "Don't you want a little more R&R before you head out, mister?" Her voice was sharp. "You can hardly sit at the table."

John saw Dean's mouth quirk into a grin that he tried to hide in his coffee mug. Clearly the mothering tone amused him.

"It's going to be a cross country drive... _sitting_..." John replied. "We can recover on the road."

"Always in such a damn hurry, John."

John stood up stiffly and moved to empty the rest of his tea into the kitchen sink. He turned around to face her, leaning his elbows on the counter behind him for support. "Word travels quickly enough, hopefully they don't know I'm hunting with my son since we killed the bitch, but I'm not so sure. That adds a whole 'nother worry for me." He leveled a look at Dean. "What I want to know is how you got the notion to come after me. If I wanted you along, I'd have asked." His tone was admonishing. "There was some stuff in that house I'd rather you not have seen."

He measured Dean's guilty gaze as the young man looked away, wilting under the scrutiny. _So he had seen the body. Dammit._ John would have spared him that.

"I didn't have a direct order to stay here, sir."

Ellis was looking at John with her ready to bicker expression. "The only words out of your mouth to that kid should be _good job_ and _thank you_."

"Stay out of this, Ellis. I run a tight ship and Dean knows the protocol."

She rolled her eyes.

Thank God he'd never had daughters. It would have been Sam times ten.

John crossed the few steps between himself and his son seated at the table, looking at his Dad with his wide green eyes. His mother's eyes. He leaned over Dean and set his hand heavily on his boy's shoulder. "That said, thank you."

Dean looked surprised. "You're welcome, Dad." His voice was quiet.

John looked up at Ellis' delicate face. "And thank you, you nasty shrew."

She beamed like it was a compliment.

* * *

Ellis gave John a clinging hug, fighting some sort of weird feeling that she wouldn't see him again. It made her stomach lurch. "Be careful," she said in his ear. "And take care of your boy." She pressed a kiss to the prickly stubble on his cheek. John Winchester smiled his sad smile, full of heartbreak and whiskey and squeezed her arm. "I will."

She watched him limp to the truck and settle behind the wheel.

Dean shoved the gear into the back and approached her with his endearing slightly bowlegged gait. He bent down for her to hug him around the neck and as he drew back she felt his lips brush the crown of her head. Ellis closed her eyes against the sudden lump in her throat and tried to push the visions back. Her hand wrapped in the leather of his worn oversized jacket. "Take care, Handsome."

Dean pulled back and gave her his wink, full of false bravado. "Maybe I'll stop by sometime. We can talk about Platonic friendships..." He let his voice drop into something husky. "... _on the couch._ " He turned without waiting for her response, but she was sure she saw him smirk.

She watched the two souls settle next to each other in the truck. One soul dim and wounded from the passing years, the other bright and radiant enough to fight the shadow cast by his father's despair.

Dean leaned back against the headrest and they pulled away from Ellis' life.

 **The End. Thanks for the reviews and feedback. Follow me if you are interested in more. I have no intention of stopping with Dean and John and Sam. I'm having way too much fun here. :)**


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